


Burn Them All

by Bow_Ties_Are_Cool



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4015759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow_Ties_Are_Cool/pseuds/Bow_Ties_Are_Cool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short vignette covering the last moments of the life of Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King, as Tywin sacks King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Them All

Rossart was dressed as a common man-at-arms as he stood before the king, hopping from foot to foot in anticipation. Aerys rubbed one of his scars from the Iron Throne absent-mindedly. _The Grand Maester has betrayed me, and the treacherous lion is sacking the city_. But it was no matter. Soon there would be no city to sack. He cackled gleefully to himself.

“The c-caches, Your Grace, c-can we set them off?” Rossart urged.

“The traitors want my city, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat.”

“We’ll b-burn them all, Your Grace.” He bowed low and tottered off, eyes shining with excitement.

Aerys leant back against the throne, somewhat satisfied, until one of the blades pricked his shoulder. He sprang up and strode down the steps, cursing that damnable iron chair. But soon he would have no need of it. _The fire will transform me… I will rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all my enemies to ash_.

 

* * *

  

Aerys paced the throne room alone. _If Jaime is no traitor, he will bring me Tywin’s head. That man is traitorous to the core. He knighted me on the Stepstones and I thought he was my ally, my friend, just as Steffon was my friend. But Tywin had Lord Steffon killed, I am certain of it_. Steffon, his cousin and his councillor, gregarious and affable, had gone to bring Rhaegar a bride of proud Valyrian blood. _He would have been a better Hand. Steffon would not have left me in Duskendale to ROT!_ It haunted his thoughts, dreaming and waking. Darkness closed in from the corners of his vision. Water was running down the dank stone walls. Aerys scrambled around on the floor and nibbled hungrily at a piece of bread… But there was no bread, and he was not in Duskendale any more.

“Aargh!” He clawed at his skin as he jolted back to reality. His muscles went into a violent spasm and he bit back the stinging in his eyes. _Dragons weep for nothing_. Several scabs were torn off and blood trickled down his arm to drip, drip, drip, onto the floor.

 _Duskendale – another of Rhaegar and Tywin’s conspiracies. But Viserys is my heir now – my true heir. Rhaegar’s girl would never have the throne._ He wrinkled his nose. _She smells too Dornish_. _As for the son, I could never let Rhaegar’s treachery win out, allow his brood to sit my throne_.

The blood from his fresh wound was forming a crimson pool beneath him. But he ignored it, stood, and resumed his pacing.

 _My own son plotted against me._ Well, that was over now. It was all over now. _But I will never let the rebels have the city. If the dragon cannot rule, neither should the lesser beasts – falcons, stags, trout, wolves…_ _Oh, the wolves._ He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. The smell of Lord Stark’s death was tangible. _Only the pyromancers understand – Rossart, Belis, Garigus… And me._ He saw again how the flesh slipped sultrily from Rickard’s charring bones and again recalled the aroma that filled the air. Men burned with a smell that was intoxicating. Arousing. Aerys was a veritable connoisseur of cremation. _And the way men danced when aflame, more beautiful than any courtly masquerade._ Even the fire itself danced, writhed and reached, bowed and pirouetted, ever changing. He felt the hot kiss of wildfire on his skin, sweeter than any maid and more lascivious than any whore. He imagined rising as a dragon from the ashes, soaring high to breathe death upon his enemies. _King’s Landing will be a lake of fire and blood. The flesh must return to the fire, before the fire can be made flesh–_

“Oww! Fuck!” More blood on his fingernails. _Damn scabs. I shouldn’t keep picking at them. They itch so much. Like my whole body is crawling. Something just below the surface trying to scratch its way through my skin…The dragon…Yes, the dragon._

 

* * *

  

The golden one walked in – Jaime Lannister. His sword was drawn and the tip was red. Red with blood. _Tywin’s blood, surely. Ser Jaime is a Kingsguard; he swore oaths. But Ser Gerold has gone missing, Ser Oswell plotted with Rhaegar, Prince Lewyn and Ser Jonothor and Ser Barristan failed me at the Trident… None could be trusted._

“Whose blood is on your sword?” _I have to know…_ “Is it Tywin’s? I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you’ll bring me his head, or you’ll burn with the rest. All the traitors. Rossart says they’re inside the walls! He’s gone to make them a warm welcome. Whose blood? Whose?”

“Rossart’s.” The reply was calm and chilling.

 _He’s dead? Then, the wildfire caches, are still sitting unignited. BUT HOW WILL THE DRAGON RISE?_ At the sight of the blade Aerys flinched and reeled backwards, losing control of his bowels. _I’m next – no, he can’t – but he’s going to anyway – no. It’s glinting at me, the glaring steel._ The room swam before his eyes, ghostly shapes floated about in front of him. His stomach turned to mush. His breaths were coming raspy and rapid. The razor-sharp ringing grew to a deafening pitch. Everything was a swirl of amorphous shapes and colours. Only the sword was in focus. _No, no, no, no, no… have to… escape… burn them all._ He screamed and squealed and ran for the throne. The golden wraith lurched towards him, hauled him bodily from the steps.

Now the lion had him by the neck and its jaws would soon close. Aerys tried to wriggle free. _The city has to burn; the rebels can’t have my throne… Robert… king of the ashes..._

“Burn them all,” he croaked. But then the cold steel was against his skin. Coughing and spluttering, the hot blood filled his mouth, metallic as the sword that slid across his throat.

“Burn th– them all,” Aerys gurgled as the golden wraith stood over him, “please… burn.”

 _I must be consumed by the fire with the rest of them and rise as a dragon, the first dragon seen in a century._ But instead he lay in filth, his robes sticky and warm… No dragons. No fire. Just blood and shit.


End file.
